


Moonlight

by ramibvnd



Category: DC - Fandom
Genre: AU, Amazons - Freeform, Angst, Batman - Freeform, Diana - Freeform, M/M, Moonlight, PostWar, Superman - Freeform, Trauma, alternative universe, hurtcomfort, mlm, tw, wwi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramibvnd/pseuds/ramibvnd
Summary: Bruce is a World War I veteran and has nightmares. One night they’re so bad, he screams. And Clark hears his screams.If you‘re not into /triggered by drugs, abuse, violence and ptsd this fic is prob not the best to read.---ps: Bruce will grate someone‘s face. accept me as i am, okay?
Relationships: Batman/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent, SuperBat - Relationship, Superman/Batman
Comments: 27
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone (who knows somebody) who suffers from memories they can’t erase.  
> Better times will come, maybe not today or tomorrow but I promise, they’ll come.

Bruce ribcage hurt like hell. He layed awake in his huge bed and tried to ignore the incredible painful burn at his left ribs.  
He couldn’t remember the explosion-causing missile, but he could remember how Barry’s face was ripped into thousand of pieces.  
A mix between a sob and a scream left Bruce’s mouth and he got up, reaching for the Cognac bottle. Three years as a soldier had left scars behind, especially the two years as a tunnel miner. Bruce was hunted by all the horror he saw - and felt. Wet from the angst sweat he got out of his shirt and his look fell on the gun at the other side of the bed. It was loaded and sparkled temptingly in the moonlight, inviting Bruce to take it and put it in his mouth.  
But that was not the his biggest problem, he was scared that someone once will approach him and that his fucked up mind make him shoot this person. He was scared that the memory of war will make him to a victim of his own ghosts, as it did with many soldiers.  
“Barry”, he whispered into the dark, “Alfred, Arthur, Victor.”  
All his companions died, his whole mining force fell except for him.  
It was a temptation for real. To reach for the gun and end it all.  
Kent invited me over to make tree decoration together with Diana, this thought crossed his mind and suddenly he let his hand fall and stared up to the ceiling. Now was not the time to end his life, later maybe, but not as long as he still have some things to attend to. Bruce didn’t really like his neighbour Clark Kent, he was doubtlessly a handsome guy, but too much of this American Dream patriot. His garden was never - and by this Bruce means never- messy, the grass was always cut and every time the house’s color gets a little bit old, he refreshed it. Like, who the fuck cares about that. Furthermore Clark was chairman of almost every charity in town, helped old people over the street and was always polite. Exactly that kind of person you’d be annoyed after spending one hour with them.  
In contrast, Bruce’s garden was a mix between a sump and a cow meadow, his house looked like it was built a century ago and his mailbox didn’t even exist. For real, whenever someone sent Bruce a mail, it either disappeared forever or was laying wet on his stairs. Nevertheless Bruce’s house was the biggest and had the cleanest car. It was the newest Ford and pitch black. Not that his neighbours would care, they only see the ugly house and garden and wish they could kick Bruce out.  
Except for Diana. She came and visited him when he had moved into the street, brought him some pastry from time to time and invited him over. But most importantly: she understood Bruce. Diana didn’t judge him for raging anger on the Germans inside his chest, she didn’t judge him for his agoraphobia and she didn’t call him out for not socialising. Instead she explained him how she’s dealing with it, because she was at the frontline as well, taking care of the injured and she lost her spouse Steve Trevor. Bruce truly looked up to her for still being able to empathise with the Germans.  
Only a few minutes later Bruce fell back into sleep.

A muffled scream woke up Clark and he got up to find out, where it came from. Quickly he went to the window on the right side of his bedroom and opened it. A fresh spring wind stroked about his bare chest and carried another scream to his ears. It clearly came from his neighbour’s house.  
As fast as possible Clark climbed out of the window, ran through the wet grass and jumped over the fence between his garden and Mr Wayne’s. Shortly before he reached the other man’s window his instincts made him stop, when he heard the third scream. It wasn’t muffled anymore, nor was it just a scream.  
Never have he heard such a hurt, scared and yet angry scream in his life. His heart ached and goosebumps were all over his body but then he took a step back and jumped. The glass shattered into thousand of pieces, Clark could feel the small cuts but nothing hurt him as much as what he saw in front of him. Bruce Wayne lay on the floor, tears all over his face, sweat pouring down his chest and pure fear in his blue eyes. He held a gun in his hand, the barrel pointing at his temple.  
Clark didn’t really know the man on the floor, he got slightly annoyed after Bruce turned down all his attempts to get to know him. Standing in his bedroom, seeing this man in his most vulnerable state, Clark realised that he was incredibly ignorant. Bruce was not a soldier who came home, being a hero for ending the Germans’ terror. Bruce came home as victim of war, traumatised and scarred by it’s horrors.  
Like in trance, Clark went the few steps to Bruce, fell on his knee and took the gun out of his hand, before he hugged him. He felt him tremble and the wetness at his chest because Bruce immediately buried his head in it.  
Clark couldn’t speak, the only thing he was able to do, was holding him tight and stroking through his hair.  
They sat like this for a long time, even when Bruce stopped crying they still didn’t let go of each other. After a while Clark could feel steady breaths and he carried Bruce carefully back to bed, covering him with the sheets. Then he picked up the gun and put it into waistband, before sitting into the armchair at the room’s corner, still watching the man in the bed. Clark noticed how incredibly well proportioned his facial features were and how good the silver strains in the black hair looked. He wondered what kind of man Bruce would’ve become if the war would have never happened. What profession he’d have and if he’d be married.  
Somewhere between night and dawn, sleep overcame Clark as well and the only noises in the room were their breaths. The moonlight softly illuminated the bedroom, dunking everything into a silver shimmer and the mild wind carried the promise of summer into the room. Maybe also a promise for better times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. Let me know if I should continue this or leave it as a one shot.  
> Also please be nice to people who experienced war, no matter if they are fought or not. War is not as cool as it is in video games. Calling them weak for being traumatised is incredibly superficially, instead show them that you’re there for them. You don’t need to understand it, just keep in mind their battling everyday even though war is over for them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is. Chapter two.

The next morning Bruce woke up to the noise from people going after their all-day business, the hornet of a car and a horse neighing. He enjoyed the short time between sleep and being awake, a time where emotions didn’t exist, just a calm moment. 

As Bruce got up, he shivered because his naked skin was exposed to the cold air and not covered in the warm sheets anymore. The broken glass caught his attention and he wanted to grab the gun, but when he felt it wasn’t at its usual place anymore, the realisation kicked in. 

Slowly he turned his head around and sighed when he saw Clark Kent sitting in the armchair, peacefully snorting. 

“Fuck man”, Bruce whispered and his cheeks blushed. He knew thathe didn’t have to be embarrassed about his trauma, but he was taught to never show weakness. And the fact that what he had with Kent last night was definitely considered as gay in society’s eyes didn’t make anything better. 

Bruce got up, walked over to his wardrobe, grabbed a white shirt and pair of black trousers (I feel very British right now), paying extra attention to be silent so Kent wouldn’t wake up. He still had to figure out how to play the situation off and the best time to think strategically was before he takes his first line with a glass of cognac. This was usually when he made breakfast. Drugs and alcohol didn’t last well on an empty stomach, this much Bruce has learned. 

Satisfied, Bruce listened to the boiling water, in which he cooked his eggs. It was one of the sounds that didn’t trigger anything. He has banned things like toasters, radios and televisions out of his house, because he didn’t want to hear all the bad news all the time and the toaster’s _plop_ was far to similar to a grenade’s. 

“Good morning.”

Bruce jerked and turned around, a knife in his right hand and ready to attack but it was only Kent. A  _ shirtless  _ Kent. Bruce couldn’t stop himself from checking out the man standing in the kitchen’s door for a second but he sucked up and fixated Kent’s eyes: “You owe me a new window.”

Internally Bruce patted himself on the shoulder for how calm and distanced his voice sounded. 

“Is this really your biggest problem?”, Clark asked, coming into the kitchen, “Not to be rude, but last night you didn’t seem okay.”

“Find me a soldier who is okay according to your measurements”, Bruce jeered and took his toasts out the pan. 

Clark raised one eyebrow: “Seek help, maybe?”

“They shot Zack Baldwin for admitting he suffers from shell shock. He was officially labelled a coward before they blew his head away. You think I’d find help? Y’all had a great time sending me into war for you but when I returned you suddenly didn’t have any interest in me anymore. I - we are a threat to society and soon I‘ll be one to you, if you don‘t leave my house“, Bruce growled with a very deep voice. 

“I still have your gun”, Clark stated and took it out of his waistband.

Now it was Bruce’s turn to raise an eyebrow: “Do I look like I couldn’t fight without a gun?”

The atmosphere in the kitchen has reached its rock bottom. Clark sensed that Bruce was for real ready to attack and that he wasn’t joking. He placed the gun on the kitchen island and walked backwards out of the kitchen, avoiding eye contact, just as he learned to do it if he’d face a puma. 

After Clark was gone, Bruce sat at the kitchen table and ate his egg toast while staring out of the window. People passed by, including John Constantine, the man from the house vis-a-vis. He let his dog shit in Bruce’s garden and when he saw Bruce watching he gave him a smile and made a pretty obscene gesture. 

_Son of a bitch_ ,  Bruce thought but he continued to eat and didn’t bother to go out and beat up Constantine. It was not worth his time. 

Meanwhile, Clark was preparing breakfast for himself and most importantly: he was thinking of Bruce. Clark tried hard to just cut the man out of his thoughts but he didn’t leave. Whenever he let his thinking float, it came to Bruce Wayne. The dark silky hair with silver strains, the muscular body and those steel blue eyes possessed his mind. Clark knew that he was clearly gay but usually it took time and a good personality to make him fall in love. Not that Clark would ever have had an openly gay relationship, this was basically illegal yet he had some good fucks. And besides his very attractive exterior Bruce Wayne awoken his protective instincts, Clark felt that deep desire to help him and even though he very well aware that Bruce would kill him if he shows up again, he wanted to go over and check on him. 

“He won’t come over for making decoration, that’s for sure”, Clark sighed and ate his corn flakes. 

Punctual at 11 o’clock Diana ringed the doorbell and brought all her stuff to make decorations. As soon as Clark saw her face, he felt better. Diana had this incredible radiance of strength and pride, which boosted your mood always. She was a perfect example of a woman who didn’t give up: working as the local governor’s secretary, being a widow and head of the women’s club. 

“You ready?”, she asked and giving Clark a big smile, “Is Bruce already here?”

Clark shook his head: “No. And don’t expect him to come.”

He was surprised that Diana didn’t dig deeper and just accepted it with an “okay”. 

They spent the whole morning making little trees, angels and other christmassy motives while chatting about the neighbours, food and life in general. The only topic they both avoided was Bruce Wayne. 

Clark invited Diana to stay for Lunch but she declined because she needed to attend to a meeting. Nevertheless, Clark escorted her to the door and in just this moment he saw Bruce leaving the house - and it took his breath away. 

Nothing Clark has ever seen came close to how freaking fine Bruce looked. His hair was combed back and he wore a grey suit and a darker coat which accentuated his tall and muscular figure. 

“Uh, where is he going?”, Diana grinned and before Clark could stop her she shouted all over the street. 

Bruce turned his head and jealousy cut deep in Clark’s heart, when he saw that Bruce started smiling, as he saw Diana. The smile disappeared quite quickly though, when he noticed Clark behind her. He still headed over to them.

“Where are you going?”, Diana asked again and kissed him on the cheeks, “Finally socialising? You could’ve done that with creating beautiful Christmas decoration with Clark and me.” 

Bruce facial expression darkened: “No. I gotta look that a friend of mine doesn’t get executed for having a breakdown in the middle of the street.”

“How can you do anything in this situation?”, Clark opposed and regretted the words immediately.

“I had a job too, before going to war. Not that you little piece of shit would expect that. You rather make decorations all day and sun yourself in the fact that the whole neighbourhood loves you.”

“Boys”, Diana interrupted, “Clark, Bruce used to work as a lawyer and Bruce, stop being so mean. He asked something completely normal.”

Clark could see that Bruce wanted to say something really really mean, but surprisingly he hold himself back. He turned around and went back to his car, a few moments later the engine startet and Bruce was gone. 

“Now that was quite rude”, Diana said but she didn’t sound upset, more sort of sad. Then she looked at Clark: “Whatever happened - try to fix it. He may seem like a jerk but once you crack the shell, you’ll be grateful for doing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this a little bit more playful.  
> Also does anybody know some tips for what to do when you feel sick in your stomach and it also hurts at the same time? I sometimes have it when anxiety kicks in but never so long and intense. And eating didn’t help either :’(


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce returned home late and he was very grateful for it. He wouldn’t want anybody to see him covered in little blood sprinkles and that angry look in his eyes. Barry once told him, that whenever Bruce was mad, his eyes began to express this emotion and that it was dauntingly as hell.  
He slammed the door and walked straight to the kitchen table, instantly making a line. As soon as he absorbed the white powder he felt his bad feelings disappear and euphoria kicked in. Bruce enjoyed it. Suddenly Kent plopped up in his thoughts and jeez, his dick got hard. It was due to the sexual disinhibition, he knew that, but it was hard to not imagine dirty things right now. Even the anger and shame that was connected to Kent somehow vanished and all Bruce wanted to do, was to knead this man’s butt and fuck him harder than anyone did before.  
Bruce stumbled to the stairs, searching Selina’s picture with the hope to come back to his senses. He found her finally, the result though wasn’t quite what he wanted.  
Selina slowly started moving in her picture and jumped out of the frame.  
“Wayne, you little bastard”, she laughed and grabbed his hands, “It takes one protective man and you’re ready to fuck”. She laughed and pulled him into the living room.  
“Let’s dance.”  
Bruce started crying, his body remembered Selina, her curves, her skin, her hair, everything felt too familiar. Nevertheless he was not sad, the cocaine made them nonexistent.  
“So tell me, who’s that boy”, she asked, shaking her hips and swirling around.  
“Kent’s my neighbour and the sunshine creep in the sub. Everybody likes him, it’s disgusting. And on top of his personality he was gifted with this forbidden hot exterior. I wish...”  
“You wish what?”  
“Nothing. He should’ve never come to my room. He should’ve stayed away from me.”  
“Why?”, Selina asked and put her head onto Bruce’s shoulder.  
“He wouldn’t need to feel responsible for me and live on his happy little boring life.”  
Selina’s eyes narrowed:”Isn’t it more like you don’t want those feelings, you don’t want to owe anyone kindness and most importantly you’re afraid of falling in love again.”  
“I still love you.”  
“Yeah, and Fleck.”  
“Shut up - I never really did anything with him.”  
“I’m not sure if a heavenly fuck counts as nothing.”  
“Kent is not the right person, trust me. he has got a girlfriend probably.”  
Her laugh was husky: “I don’t trust men who are on drugs. Especially not if their name is Bruce Wayne.”  
With these words her figure disappeared and the whole set of emotions started coming back. Half an hour later Bruce sat on the living room floor, his body was trembling, like the racehorse’s do after they have to stand still again. He stood up, trying not to fall, his head ached and felt really dizzy.  
He passed by the stairs, gave a quick looks at Selina’s picture and was shortly confused that it was just a regular photograph. Then he moved his legs again and went straight - or more in a sort of zig zag- into his bed. He didn’t fell immediately asleep but right after the first attack of trembling stopped.  
But his sleep of exhaustion and post drugged was nothing stable or healing and as he expected he woke up a bit after midnight. Again his ribcage hurt, it was the worst in the early hours of the morning and again he couldn’t suppress the memories of his companions and family dying. This time it was Selina instead of Barry.  
Bruce wasn’t religious but if God does exist, he would like to ask him, why he’d let him go through so much pain. Why does he even allow that much pain happen to someone.  
Selina was incredible. She was one of the working women, first taking jobs at home that required getting dirty and one year after the war started, she came to the front and helped the red cross.  
Bruce met her around the war’s midterm and holy shit, he was beyond amazed. Selina had more courage than anyone he has met before. She wasn’t afraid of sitting next to the dying soldiers and she was always gentle with everyone, no matter which side they were from. Like in one of those bad romances, he fell in love and visited her as many times as he could.  
And one fatal day their camp was invaded by Germans and Selina was a welcome feast for them. She fought against them first, two days she bit, punched and scratched the Germans but after and after her spirit broke. It was the start of “Bruce surviving catastrophes in which he saw his friends die”-story, the start of his worst luck.  
And now after all this time, his stupid heart wants to fall in love again. With the 6 foot tall human version of a golden retriever.  
God fucking damn it.  
The bell forced him to get up and walk to the door. There was Clark.  
“What do you want Kent?“  
“Fix your window.“  
Bruce closed his eyes and inhaled, held it and slowly exhaled. Repeated that a few times and then he looked straight into Kent‘s eyes: “After that you piss off and never ever fucking return you bloody dick.“  
His voice was calm, too calm. Bruce knew that this wasn‘t good at all, the unwanted attraction to Kent battled his disgust for Kent and it looked like it would end up as one of those unpleasant love based on hating someone.  
Kent‘s mouth corner twitched.  
“Sure. I’m sorry for causing trouble, but your told me I owe you a new window.”  
Bruce opened the door and stepped aside, Kent walked in and he catchend a hint of his scent. Man, this guy smelled way too good, a mix between fir and fresh water.  
Bruce stayed in the room for a moment, to watch Kent starting his work, before he went into his living room to finish reading “Ten day that shook the world”. Kent wouldn’t do anything stupid or steal something. And if something was missing, it was quite easy to find him.  
“I’m finished.”  
Bruce didn’t bother to stop reading, which was in his opinion enough to signalise that Kent should get out.  
“Would you recommend that book?”, Kent asked.  
“Nah, not for you. You better read Anne of the Green Gables, suits your view of the world better. I don’t wanna shake it up or anything. And remember what I said, before? Piss off after you’re done.”  
To Bruce’s annoyance, Kent shifted his weight on his right leg and relaxed:”I believe you are a nice person but you don’t like to present yourself as one.”  
“And I believe you are a annoying bastard but everyone believes you’re nice. Get the fuck out of my house. Right. Now.“  
“Look Bruce, I should not have said the things I said, but it’s hard to stay silent when you act like that. You don’t need to be rude to keep me away. Just say it, if you don’t want to see me.”  
“I don’t know when we agreed on calling us by our first names and I don’t know what you don’t understand about ‘Fuck off’. I mean it Mister Kent, if you don’t leave this house immediately, I’m going to refer to the second amendment and kill you. In all seriousness, I may be damaged but I’m still a soldier who thought in a bloody world war.”  
By now, Clark was angry too. He knew that provocation wouldn’t bring them anywhere, but something about Bruce made him abandon his common sense and listening to his stomach. He wanted to know what’s beneath that crust of coldness, he wanted to show Bruce the beauty of healing - he wanted to help him heal.  
Fortunately the will to help wasn’t strong enough to let Clark put himself even more into this suicidal disaster and he left Bruce’s home for a second time in rage and grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s getting spicy... will Clark crack Bruce’s hard shell? Or will they end up as ‘more-than-just-one-one-night-stand’ and hate each other (which can lead to good sex lmaoo)  
> The only thing I can promise is that I will continue to criticise America’s (and Europa’s) laws and the treatments of mentally ill/damaged/abused persons and of course the demonisation of homosexuality.  
> By the way, I loved how the Pope made all the “but the Bible said it’s Adam and Eve” reasoning worthless as hell. Okay Imma stop here, wish y’all a good day <3


	4. Chapter 4

On the 25th December Clark got up at five o‘clock in the morning to do the necessary shoppings Diana needed for the Christmas Gala and help her setting up the house. Diana‘s galas were legendary in a very decent way.   
Given to the fact that she had some connections and was a very public figure in town, she often had some big shots at her Gala mixed with ‘ordinary‘ people. And the environment was always well balanced between elegance, pomp and minimalism.   
He sat in his car and once again he mourned his horse. Clark grew up on a farm and riding was one of his favourite activities. He had a Morgan stallion, ‘Wizard’ was his name, with a magnificent mane and an unbreakable will to move his legs.   
But when he moved to the town, he sold him, due to the fact that the horses didn’t really fit in the suburbs and his job would make it impossible to give Wizard enough movement.   
Clark’s destination was the ‘Piggly Wiggly’ Store in the city and on his way back home, he would stop by the butcher and pick up the stuffed goose, Diana ordered.   
As soon as he arrived in the city, Clark was surprised by snow. It was quite beautiful to watch the snowflakes fall down while the sun slowly started to rise and let the first rays strove above the horizon.   
Luckily it was only a slight snowing and didn’t turn into a blizzard out of all sudden, which was quite common in this region.   
The shopping was done a lot faster than Clark expected and he was already on his way back around 10.   
The morning and afternoon were incredibly stressful, Diana and Clark had barely time to eat lunch. But when they looked at their final product, they were more than happy to have worked that hard. Diana‘s house adorned with two fairy lights, the entrance was snow-free, the mistletoes were at the right place and it looked very classy.   
“We‘ve done a good job, I think“, Clark sighed happily and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.   
Diana nodded, her eyes were glooming:”Definitely. You’re a real treasure, thanks for helping me again this year.”  
“No problem, I love doing that. The results are always so satisfying.”  
“Yeah”, Diana grinned, “But you have to leave now. We only have three ours left until the first guests attend and I want to take a nap and get ready before that.”  
——  
Bruce grabbed his finest shirt and put to his suit on the bed sheet. His social anxiety was already terrorising him and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to go to the dinner. But Diana was worth it and he promised her to come.   
He jumped under the shower and shaved afterwards. While het stroked the silver blade over his cheeks, he thought about how he could possibly avoid social interactions at the party. Alcohol was a good idea, especially the such events like Diana’s — they didn’t like drunken men and wanted them to leave as quickly as possible. But a possible problem was Bruce’s exterior.  
He went back to his bed room and he caught himself in the mirror. Except for the blotchy skin around his left side, he only had a few visible scars and he was still in good form. A couple of them was adorning his hip, he remembered the man who fired the gun and he also remembered how he strangled him. The other visible scar was due to a knife, that an Austrian plunged into his shoulder and put it all way down his back.   
Bruce never touched them as a matter of principle and used a brush to clean the spots. As soon as he got his shirt and pants on, he applied the sleeve garters, the pocket watch and the vest.   
Bruce looked again in the mirror and was content with what he saw; he was conscious of the fact that a suit made him look bloody fine, his body seemed to be shaped to fit into shirts and vests, but this one really took it to another level. The black fabric of the suit matched his hair, the silver strains made a nice contrast together with the white shirt and the hairless cheeks made him look younger and sharper. Summarised: His look was presentable.   
Before he went over the Street to Diana‘s, he quickly checked out the scene over there. To his unease there were already a lot of people arriving and in the middle of the small flow was Kent. He looked good but Bruce looked better and the ladies going to notice it anyways. Except for the other people who live in this street everyone will try to catch his, Bruce Wayne‘s, attention.   
Why the hell did I dress up like this? That’s going to draw it even more on me, he thought and at the bottom of his heart he knew why but refused to acknowledge it.   
His steps on the snow were silent as a silver lion, the yearlong experience as a soldier made him to a dangerous yet handsome threat.  
And it had the effect he foresaw, touts les hommes stopped entering Diana’s house and checked him out. Some men was the envy written all over the face, others turned back discretely. The women were more expressive, his neighbours gave him a disgusted but somewhat adoring gaze and all the others were either begging with their eyes or planning how to engage him in a conversation.   
One stood out though. She was at the outside of the flow, her hair was a striking platin blonde and her look was indifferent. She wore a creme coloured dress and a brown cape with fur over it. Bruce locked eyes with her and an arrogant smile started to appear. There was a gleam of madness in her green eyes.   
“Bruce!”  
Bruce quit the eye contact with the woman and focused on Diana. She was as gorgeous as always, wearing a red silk dress and her hair bouncing in soft curls. Diana was the same thing Bruce was to women to men. An eye catcher.   
If he didn‘t knew her like he did, he would for sure try to get her affection and approval. But it is what it is, and he just loved her and found her a beautiful woman in a platonic way. She was probably the one human being that comes so close to perfect, that mankind can‘t see the difference anymore.   
“Diana, you look gorgeous — as always”, Bruce complimented her.  
She smiled, very well knowing how beautiful she was: “Thank you. You look good too. I’m happy to see you here.”  
“I’d do anything for you.”   
“Except for making some decorations”, Diana said innocently. Goddamn, this woman knew her weapons and used them merciless.  
“Well, if I attended, I would’ve done it for Kent. And I don’t do shit for him.”  
“Good to hear”, laughed a familiar voice behind Bruce.   
Instead of reacting to it, Bruce just went inside and ditched Clark. He instantly spotted the buffet and to be more exact the alcohol. With big steps he walked over, grabbed a glass of champagne and bunked off to a shadowy corner.   
As the evening passed by, Bruce made the same observation as always when he attended to such festivities: The people are superficial and plain. Boring to make it simple.   
Bruce would like to be boring but that was impossible, even drunk his brain saw all the terror except the feelings are gone. He took another sip out of his glass - he switched to bourbon in the meantime and it was his eight glass - and put his weight on the other foot. He was close at the border to become so drunk that disinhibitions would kick in but he refilled his glass anyways and emptied it in his throat.  
“Bruce”, a husky voice sounded next to Bruce’s ear and turned his head. He looked into Clark Kent’s blue eyes. His rational part demanded him to walk away but he stayed and sank into Kent’s eyes, their blue was friendlier and warmer than Bruce’s.   
“What’s the matter Kent?”, he said after a while.   
Kent smiled and Bruce was kicked out of his trance, the adoration turned into somewhat hateful desire. To formulate it more clearly: all his feelings for the other man were floating through his veins and it was hard to hold it back.   
“Follow me”, Bruce’s voice was pressed, he put his glass onto a table and went up the stairs - Kent followed.   
He opened a random door to a room and pulled Kent after him. Now aware of what Bruce was going to do, or wanted to do, Clark closed the door and turned to Bruce.   
The first kiss wasn’t gentle or shy at all, Bruce pinned Kent against the wall and opened the other‘s lips by violence. The kiss tasted like a mix between Clark’s fir scent and Bruce’s scent of cognac, gun powder and sweat. Even though Bruce was a tiny bit smaller than Clark, he instantly took over the top position and didn‘t waste a second. When Kent needed to take a breath, he stopped kissing him and started licking Clarke‘s adam‘s apple, while unbuttoning his own shirt. Clark assisted him and when it was off he absorbed the presented muscular body.   
Bruce groaned: “Stop looking, just get these bloody trousers off”.   
Both of them had a visible bulge in their crotch and the pressure was hard to stand. A few seconds later Clark’s trousers were gone Bruce got on his knees.   
“Bruce, what the hell are you doing?”, Clark said and started moaning. Yeah, he had sexual experiences with other men but Bruce’s aggressive way to fuck him turned him on far more. The man beneath him had taken the whole shaft into his mouth and started sucking so hard, Clarke needed to bury his hands in Bruce’s hair and almost edged while doing so. He was driven crazy by the warmth of mouth and the saliva’s wetness. Bruce moved his mouth quickly up and down Clark’s cock, rasping his teeth gently over the sensitive skin. It made him tense and blood flew into his lower regions but it was nothing compared to Clark - his dick was harder and straighter than a metal bar.   
As Bruce got quicker and quicker with his movements, Clark‘s moans got louder and he pulled Bruce’s hair, putting his cock even deeper into his mouth. Finally he cummed. A pleasant shiver snaked Clark a lovely warmth rose from his lower regions.   
Still wheezing, Bruce got up and pushed Clark coarsely onto the bed.   
“I’ll fuck you like a dog now and you shut up because no one should hear us”, Bruce gasped and penetrated Clark’s hole with one finger. His pitch was incredibly fast, soon three fingers were inside Clark and Bruce switched to his cock. He basically rammed it into Clark and his answer was muffled moan. Bruce’s hands were resting on Clark’s hips, leaving sweaty handprints and Bruce’s eyes were on the muscular back.   
Clark screamed into a pillow, begging Bruce to finish him. He was hard again and the sensitive member was wetting. Bruce stopped for a second, taking his dick completely out of Clark to put it back as deep as possible. He felt Clark trembling beneath him and jumped over the cliff. Sperm filled up Clark’s butthole, he himself came into the bed laundry.   
Bruce pushed Clark into the mattress, stood up and buttoned up his trousers, put on the shirt and adjusted the cravat. His hair was ruffled, sweat on his temples but he left anyway.   
He jumped down the stairs, almost ran out of Diana’s house out on the streets but instead of going home, he started running. Snow entangled in his hair, the cold coloured his cheeks red and the wind made him shiver.   
At some point he slipped out on ice and didn’t move at all. Guilt and anger filled up his head, not only had he fucked a man but also betrayed Selina. 

“There are easier ways to kill yourself.”  
Bruce almost yelled and opened his eyes. The blonde woman from the begging of the evening stood above him, amusement in her eyes. She offered him a hand and pulled him onto his feet.   
“Who are you?”, Bruce asked while wiping away the dirt and snow on his suit.   
She smirked: “Some call me cupid of crime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all liked it:)) I will gift this work to anyone who guesses/knows who the ‘mystery woman’ is. Stay safe peps and remember: better times will come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of a new character who seriously challenges Bruce’s/Batman’s top spot in my heart :) Since I do like to do self promotion and need some entertainment: Why don’t you cheek out my Hittin’ Licks OS? It’s about the Interception couple Eames and Arthur. Skdsnkdfj sorry. Enjoy the story.

Bruce stumbled next to the mysterious stranger through the streets to her car. While his loins still ached due to Clark, his brain was filled up with her. She didn‘t had the classy aura Diana has but definitely an exciting and tempting one. Her dress had a provocative tailoring and her make up was different from the popular trend. Gold was the dominant eyeshadow color together with thick black and her lips were bright red.   
“Why do they call you Cupid of Crime?”, Bruce asked after a while and offered her his arm. The icy cold had cleared his senses a bit and the alcohol was going to hit him really hard the next day, but for now he was able to concentrate on her.   
She laughed, it was a mad laughter: “I’m married or let’s say tied to a man who is not exactly nice but does have enough money to make me stay.”  
“So you have a sugar daddy?”, Bruce asked blatantly.  
“More like a abuse daddy”, she opened the door of her car, “But as I said, it’s fine. He pays my bills and all I have to do is caressing his ego and make his dick hard.”  
“Still doesn’t explain why you have a nickname that calls you a criminal.”  
“Oh honey. Among other things he sells drugs and kills people. From time to time I assist him and before you say anything, I know where you get that coke from.”  
“That’s a weird way to threaten somebody.”  
Her voice hit a high pitch when she answered: “I am weird. You still have time to get out of the fucking car.”  
Bruce remained on his seat. She was indeed not harmless but her beauty made it quite sexy. God, I‘m so superficial and dumb. Bruce rolled his eyes at himself but stayed seated and checked her out. She was definitely dashing and had an erotic touch.   
“Before you eat me with your eyes, please don’t be cocky if we meet J. And introduce yourself as a relative of mine, ok? He doesn’t condone any male friends alongside me, unless he picks them.”  
“You are doubtlessly clever but I suppose he knows as well who I am if even you know it. And since when is it usual to be friends two minutes of talking? Regardless the fact that I had really great sex a few moments ago and I’m completely stoned, I still believe it doesn’t work that way.”  
She grinned: “Since when do we follow the policies of society?”  
Bruce just shook his head. She glanced at him and hit the gas pedal so abruptly, that it pressed him into his seat. Two minutes later he questioned if she owned a driver’s license, they had cut every corner they had passed, the speedometer indicated too much and she hardly used the breaks. The few cars passing them honked all together but the woman couldn’t be bothered less, instead she honked back and laughed.   
Soon they had left the suburb and were heading for the city.   
“What are my chances to still be alive when the sun rises?”, Bruce asked when they drove past the first skyscraper.   
She slowed her the vehicle down and tilted her head: “Very little if you dislike to use violence. Little if you don’t care about pain and causing pain.”  
Bruce sighed and stared out of the window. Why the hell did he get engaged with that, it was probably the irony of fate. The constant wish to die and now when it seemed like he’d get what he wanted, he suddenly wasn’t ready. A bitter smile appeared on his face and his fists clenched.   
Both were silent until she parked the car in front of a daedal block. She turned off the engine and looked at Bruce. For the first time since he met her, her eyes were completely earnest and not a spark of wag was visible.   
“Bruce, I don’t think we’re that different. Yeah, I might seem like a psyched lunatic with strange preferences regarding clothes and color but beneath all that I’m just trying to exist after surviving some heavy bullshit. I’ve chosen the opposite strategy to yours to keep going. You try to keep human interaction as small as possible and I try to make it as much as possible, yet reaching out for us will never really succeed. Honestly, I don’t want your body in the river or in a slaughterhouse, I want you to be alive tomorrow.”  
“What’s your real name then?”  
“Harley Quinn.”  
They got out of the car and entered the apartment through a door protected by two bulky goons. Harley smiled at them and kisse one’s cheek before dragging Bruce inside.   
There were even more funny lads hanging around and eyeing Bruce suspiciously while bowing their heads to Harley.   
“Where’s J?”, she demanded and looked around. The room was filled up with the smell of cigarettes, alcohol and sweat. One lad, looking like he was stoned for the past two years nodded in the direction of a huge door with a dartboard on it.   
Harley breathed in and walked straight into the adjacent room behind the door. Bruce followed and froze.   
The man standing at a enormous pool table was too familiar. His bony yet muscular silhouette, the long stringy hair, the pale skin and the scary wide smile partly caused by scars. Arthur Fleck wore a white shirt and black trousers and was smoking. On the other side of the pool table a fat little man with suit and cylinder was trying to hit the white ball with the cue.   
Arthur (or J, whatever you prefer) spotted Bruce seconds later but had his reaction better under control. Only his eyes showed recognition for a moment before they became as expressionless as they were before. Harley wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head into a intense kiss.   
“I’ve got a friend with me”, she whispered into his ear and burried her head in his throat pit.   
Arthur lifted his chin and pushed Harley away: “I can see that. Get out, I want to finish the game with Oswald.”  
Harley shrugged and came back to Bruce: “Let’s go upstairs, the roof is nice.”  
They climbed the stairs and Harley led Bruce out on the roof. The snowing didn’t stop yet and their breath formed little clouds in the icy air.   
“You introduced me as a friend and I didn’t even need to talk at all”, Bruce said after observing the sky for a while.   
Harley shrugged again: “Usually he’d make clear that I’m his property and leave some marks before I can get back to my visitors. And sometimes he interrogates them, only to check out who they are, in order to send the right men later. Strange that he didn’t do it with you. Almost as if he respects you or is scared of you.”  
Bruce kept quiet about the little secret he shared with Arthur, Harley seemed to truly love him, even though they clearly didn’t have a healthy relationship.  
Shortly after Bruce returned from Europe he collided with a striking man. Back then Arthur didn’t have half of this threatening attitude he possessed now and he was not surrounded by people looking like they could beat you up with their little finger.   
Arthur invited him to dinner and Bruce accepted it because Arthur was not as fake as the others who obsessively tried to get him back into social life. Arthur was genuinely interested in his personality and not in his issues. So it came that they’ve ended up tangled into each other with an indescribable energy between each other. Compared to Clark it was a far more violent due to Arthur who wasn’t a bottom either. But instead of a turn off it was a pleasure to fight about the dominance and holy shit - Arthur was good. Bruce had fucked a lot of people in his life but only Selina and Arthur ever topped him. Arthur’s sweaty face, pure lust written all over it appeared in front of Bruce’s inner eye but his body’s reaction wasn’t the one he expected. It felt like a good memory but didn’t provoke anything else. Instead Kent’s face from one or two hours ago plopped up and Bruce couldn’t help himself but grin. Harley raised an eyebrow and asked the question without really asking.   
“I thought about Kent.”  
“The man you fucked”, she said it like it was a common known fact, not a question or option, “What are you gonna do about it?”  
“I don’t know. I actually hate him and even if this wasn’t the case, we couldn’t be together.”  
Harley giggled and took Bruce’s hand. “I actually hate him”, she imitated him, “It’s probably not my place to give advices about relationships and love but honey, go and get that 6 feet tall puppy of a man.”  
“You know him?”  
“Yes and no. From time to time I attend some of the more exclusive parties around the city and he’s often invited - especially in the suburb. People love him and I had the pleasure to accompany him and his bubble for while. Holy shit, after five minutes I was ready to kill him with a lampshade. But I see why people like him. He’s naive in a cute way and always try to see the positive in everyone. And not to forget that body.”  
“Well you just provided another reason why me and him will never work. He has thousands of boring people wanting his dick why should he want me? I’m not nice nor am I popular.”  
“You got the body”, Harley grinned and punched him friendly against the chest, “And you’re interesting. Not so superficial.”  
“Don’t jump to this conclusion too fast.”  
They both laughed when the door behind them was opened. “Madame, Mister J wants you to come down.”  
“Aight”, Harley got up sighing but then leaned down to Bruce and spoke under her breath, “If you get inside, open the door to you’re right. It’s a small kitchen and I suppose there are some helpful tools to survive.”  
Bruce signalised with a nod that he undestood and got up as well: “It was a pleasure to talk with you Harley.”  
He kissed her hand and observed how she was escorted down the stairs. Three rocks of men stayed and one of them cracked his knuckles.   
“Listen guys, we don’t need to do this.”  
He didn’t even have time to end his sentence when the first one attacked him. But Bruce was faster and ducked himself so that the man fell over the balustrade and fell down. His scream faded in the night.   
Bruce had to get inside somehow otherwise he would end up like the first bullyboy. He rolled his shoulders back and rammed them into the door. The glass shattered and the other two goons moved back and were obviously shocked about the move. Bruce felt a little insulted that Arthur sent such idiots to finish him. Seconds later the smaller one pulled out a knife and lunged at Bruce. Bruce sidestepped but the blade still torn his shirt open a little bit of blood showed up. Angrily Bruce grappled the jacket of his attacker and pulled him back, only to reach for his knife-hand’s wrist and brutally break it. The man whined and let the knife fall on the ground but in the same moment the other one rammed his knife into Bruce’s arm. Bruce kicked the one with the broken wrist on the ground and turned around to face the other one. This one was striking out to give Bruce a proper hook but Bruce moved backwards to the door. He almost ripped the door out of it’s angles and was very pleased to see a grater. He took it and waited for the other’s next move and as he suspected, the man attacked him frontally. Bruce lifted his foot and kicked him into the stomach, reaching out for his arm, drew him closer and pulled the grater over his face. The goon’s howl was satisfying. Bruce patted the dirt off his clothes and straightened his cravat before going down the stairs, greeting the guys in the entry and walking to Harley’s car, where the key was still in the ignition key. This woman was incredible.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So friends, yes I am still alive. And this fic officially hit 1k thank y‘all & I‘m terribly sorry for all the language mistakes I made lmfao. Seriously you gotta believe me: Usually I do know when to use a / an.  
> Anyway this chapter is quite a lot. At least it was for me. And sorry for the mistakes.
> 
> Trigger warnings: violence, self hatred & PTSD attack, drug abuse

Bruce arrived at home as a whole and took care of the stab wound. He’s feelings were mixed, anger towards Arthur paired with platonic butterflies in his stomach for Harley. He had to admit that her personality, attitude and actions caught him off guard. Diana got through his shell with patience and kindness and Clark was doing it with occupying his heart but Harley didn’t go through anything like that. Bruce simply didn’t have time to build the walls and shut her out. Instead she welcomed him like they’ve known each other for years and didn’t hesitate to betray her lover in some way to save him.  
But as liberating as it was to spend time on a roof with someone who is as broken as Bruce, there were other matters of urgency. Kent for example.  
He couldn’t deny that he had sex with him or did enjoy it. Sooner or later he had to talk to Kent and come in terms with Selina, this required getting things straight with his feelings and his conscience. Bruce was not even thinking of sleeping, for once he would do something properly. But breaking old habits was hard and he sniffed a line of coke before he put his torn shirt back on and walked over to Kent’s house. He checked the time on his pocket watch, it was around three am., but it didn’t bother him, the white powder was already unfolding its effects.  
He rang several times and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It took about five minutes until the door got opened and a dozy Clark appeared in the frame. When he realised it was Bruce in front of him, his mimic brightened up but a sad expression remained: “Bruce, to be honest I didn’t expect you. What’s the matter?”  
“I suppose”, Bruce said with a voice that didn’t sound like his own, “I need to confess a few things. Or apologise.”  
Clark didn’t take his gaze off him and waited for him to continue.  
Bruce wagged his head, lost in his thoughts. Dayum, he took too much coke.  
“Would you like to color the moon with me?”, Bruce grinned and rested his body against the railing.  
“What?”, Clark asked in disbelief and disappointment, “You wake me up at this time to ask if we want to color the moon together?”  
He stared at Bruce and suddenly it snapped in his head. The stupid grin on Bruce’s face, his question and the time together with the dirty, torn shirt. Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him, completely stoned and trying to talk about his feelings.  
“Did you intake anything Bruce?”  
“Perhaps. But what’s about the moon? Are you in? I’m going now, Harley will join us if I ask her. Diana too.”  
Clark sighed and stepped out of his house to grab Bruce by his shoulders and softly forced him inside his house. The taller one (YeS iT’s BrUcEy) spun on his heel and framed Clark’s face before kissing him. For a short moment Clark hesitated whether he should give in and kiss Bruce or not but then his conscience kicked in and made him push Bruce away.  
“As much as I’d like to make out with you, I’d rather do it when you’re not high.”  
And he would like to know who Harley is. But for now he got to put Bruce to sleep. Bruce clearly had other plans and tried to get rid of Clark, while being pushed into the couch’s direction. The advantages were on Clark’s side though and as soon as Bruce’s head was on the pillow he closed his eyes.  
“Unbelievable”, Clark sighed and rubbed his eyes. He dug a blanket out of his closet and covered Bruce with it.  
The next morning began late for Clark and once again Bruce was already up when he went into the kitchen. It felt like an uncomfortable deja-vu.  
“I guess I have to apologise. But sober this time”, Bruce started right off the start and sat down.  
“Let me drink coffee first.”  
As Clark boiled the water for the coffee he observed his hands trembling and cursed himself for it.  
“Alright. Listen. The war made me an asshole but this doesn’t excuse my behaviour towards you. I’m sorry I fucked you yesterday.”  
The other man sighed: “Bruce you don’t need to apologise for having sex with me. I wanted it too. I’d rather now why? Why do you despise me so much? And why do you fuck me after making clear that you hate me?”  
Bruce hesitated, clenched his fists before looking straight into Clark’s eyes: “You’ve seen me in my most vulnerable moment and I don’t like that. I don’t want anyone so close to me because it makes me even weaker. And on top of that it’s illegal. Man and man doesn’t work and a traumatised soldier doesn’t work either. Clark you got the perfect life, everyone loves you, you look good and you’re a nice person. Go find yourself a woman, have children and live your goddamn American life. Even if we can be together, you’d be fed up with me after one week. I’m a mess. Shell shock is not my only problem, I have troubles socialising and I might shoot you. Seriously, one wrong move and my sick brain will paint you as my enemy and shoot you. Living with someone like me is not a challenge, it’s a punishment.”  
Congrats on oversharing, Bruce thought to himself and watched Clark digesting what he just said. Even though it was not exactly comfortable to open up like this he felt a bit better than two minutes ago. He had given Clark the ultimate chance to turn around and ban Bruce. There wasn’t any reason to judge him for that, because no matter how kind hearted and patient Clark was or would be, there were some things even the best humans cannot repair. And as much as Bruce wished it wasn’t true, he knew he was part of these broken things. Yeah, there is a small chance that he can heal some of the wounds but the majority of the damage will last forever. He saw what happened to the marriages and relationships, John Constantine for example: Before the war he was in a more or less stable and healthy relationship with Zatanna. Two months after his return she left and Constantine drank even more.  
And yeah, on top of that being gay was wrong and not accepted. They would’ve do everything secretly, hidden from the public’s eye.  
“And if we gave it a chance?”, Clark said, “I mean what can go wrong?”  
“I don’t know, we could get arrested for being caught in an inappropriate situation. Or beaten down on the streets, or being shot, or-“  
“Okay, yes I know that too. What I meant was, if it goes wrong we can still end it, right?.”  
“Technically you can end anything.”  
Clark sighed again but with a shy smile. He reached out for the other’s hand before they leaned into a soft kiss. A shiver went down Clark’s spine and when they ended the kiss he couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to wake up like this every day.  
The moment was ruined by the sound of shattering glass and Bruce basically standing on his chair because of it. They looked through the window and saw a handful guys breaking in Bruce’s house and whilst Bruce didn’t seem surprised at all, Clark was very confused.  
“Who are these men?”  
“I don’t know. My guilty conscience perhaps?”  
“Bruce. There are people breaking into your house and look like they’re ready to kill you if needed. That’s nothing to joke about.”  
“Wrong. They are here to kill me. Funny you mention joking, because this is almost the wire puller’s name.”

Bruce sat in his armchair in the living room and was polishing his gun while he thought about the day. He spent the whole morning with Clark and it was nice. But as soon as Clark would be sick of him and leave him, or Bruce would hurt him with his actions and words. And he still disliked him.  
He was semi-sure about that though.  
Bruce was pretty confident J’s men would come again and now he was prepared. The adrenaline in his veins felt good, the shadow of his past didn’t linger around in his mind and he realised how sick this was. The very thing that made him the fucked up person he was today made him totally calm now. The pressure of the coming battle and the prospect of blood and violence made his hand stop trembling, made the merry-go-round in his head stop and left nothing but the cold calm inside him.  
As expected they came, nevertheless Bruce was surprised by how obvious J went about it - no the slightest attempt to be silent or cover the fact that he wanted to kill him. After all he still lived in a pretty lively neighbourhood and shots or loud noises weren’t exactly subtle. A few more windows broke and they opened the door with shooting the locker.  
His armchair was on the door’s upper right side and therefore the perfect spot to surprise his attackers. He heard how one of them messed around in the toilet, two or three taking the stairs upwards and the remaining ones heading for the living room. Three breaths later the first guy walked through the door and said goodbye to the world forever. The bullet hit the men’s head perfectly and a morbidly proud feeling rose in Bruce, after all this shit he could still send someone in afterlife without any troubles.  
However the surprising effect was gone now and the other two emerged into the room as well as the one from the toilet. They shot like there was no tomorrow and one approached him with an ugly looking knife. Bruce’s second shot was as precise as the first one and now it was two against one. He was getting up, ready to look over the armchair and fire a third bullet when the men from upstairs entered the room and a moment later a bullet Bruce’s arm hit.  
Suddenly it was all back. The horrors rushed through his mind and the shots were too loud. He heard Selina screaming, saw Barry dying and at the same time his senses absorbed the here and now. It was too much.  
The gun fell out of his hand, his whole body began to shut down and the only thing that kept playing over and over again in his mind was Barry’s body getting ripped apart. Bruce wasn’t screaming, nor was he trembling - he was just coiled up on the floor behind the armchair, seeing his friend die on replay.  
And yet it was the worst shell shock he ever had. He could feel his soul, the glowing spark inside him crackle under the pressure but he couldn’t wake up. This was not a nightmare that would end, this was not an attack that would eventually go over. It was a black hole made out of pain and anger and sadness that consumed all the joyful things inside him. No one would safe him now and it was okay. Now was a good moment to die. 

A gentle voice brought him back. He could sense the person sitting next to him but in a respectful distance. It was nice that at least on part of his consciousness was kept busy with something this calming. The other part was still focused on Barry.  
The voice continued talking though and his brain actually started listening to it.  
“Breathe in and breathe out. You’re in your own house and there is no one else except for us. You’re safe and whatever you’re experiencing right now is not real. Breathe in and out.”  
Bit by bit reality came back, he felt the cold floor beneath his body and smelled the person’s scent.  
When the memory of Barry finally faded away and he could see the room again he saw a pair of colourful boots and long blonde hair. Harley was sitting like 4 feet away and gave him a small smile: “There you are skipper. Can I hug you now?”  
Bruce wasn’t able to speak but he tried to signalise that it was okay. Harley pulled him into a hug and her steady heartbeat brought him completely back to the here and now. His eyes wandered through the room and he discovered Clark leaning agianst the wall in the corner, a concerned look on the face. Next he saw a bat on the floor and wondered why it was bloody.  
Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :) Stay safe sweeties and keep in mind breathing is key. Jokes aside, breathing techniques really work out and if you feel a little stressed out, remember: Breath in, you‘re worthy of love and happiness, you‘re a boss ass bitch and totally amazing, breath out


End file.
